


Tilted

by thehighwaywoman



Series: Tilted 'Verse [1]
Category: CW Network RPF, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blindness, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-21
Updated: 2012-07-21
Packaged: 2017-11-10 10:05:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/465071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thehighwaywoman/pseuds/thehighwaywoman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wandering vagabond Jared arrives in town for a temporary job rebuilding broken-down beach houses and is baffled by the reclusive nature of his downstairs neighbor Jensen. He doesn't know what kind of secrets Jensen is keeping, but he plans to get to know the man better in every way he can. Features confusion, angst, Chris Kane's Fists of Fury, a yellow Labrador, secrets, and broken!Jensen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tilted

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on LiveJournal, December 2007.

“Hey, it’s me. Figured I’d let you know I got here in one piece. All on my own just like I said I could, so you can stop fretting, okay?” Jared juggles two plastic Bi-Lo sacks full of CD’s, a potted aloe plant, a box of Saltines and his cell phone, which is both easier and harder to manage than it sounds like. Seems like he can’t ever manage to do just one thing at a time. There’s too much out there, right? Billions of things to taste and touch and smell and see and hear.

“Jared, you know I love you –“

He coos falsely, obnoxiously and loudly into the teensy speaker of the cell phone, all the while wedging it between cheek and shoulder, where it disappears completely from view amongst his hair. “Better not let the missus hear you buttering me up.”

Sera laughs, delighted. “I love you like I was your _sister_ , you big goof.”

“The missus would still have your tits in a vice for flirting.” He’s only half-kidding. Sera’s current lady friend is the territorial type. Tiny, looks like you could break her in half – especially when they stand side by side – but she’s good for Sera, and that’s all that matters to Jared. The woman in question has so often threatened to emasculate him for looking sideways at her honey that he’s tickled to death by her temper. He lays it on thick and sugary all the time for the fun of listening to her fly off the handle at him. He has a thing for tough, tiny women. The smaller they are, the sharper their teeth, in his experience, and he adores that. 

Wait, what was he saying to Sera? Oh, yeah. 

“You pass the word along to Momma for me, okay?”

“Call her yourself, chicken.” 

“I don’t know if talking to her is such a good idea right now, that’s all.”

“Grow a pair, would you? Sure, she might chew your ear off but beyond talking you half to death, what’s the worst that could happen?”

Jared flips off the phone. His momma’s a good lady and as sweet as the day is long, but she has definite Ideas on how a grown man should conduct his life, ideas about staying in one place and forming lasting ties and putting down roots. Ideas that don’t mesh with Jared’s need to wander.

He’d have liked to make her happy in the ways she wanted. To find a girl, find a job, find a house, find contentment. Thing is, he’s known since he was six years old and facing down a prison of a schoolroom that having to do one thing for years on end and maybe the rest of his life will smother him faster than a pillow over his face. He’s known since he was sixteen that there he’ll really never feel more than friendship for a woman. 

He’s known since he was nineteen that even if he had wanted these things for his own sake, he wouldn’t be selfish enough to take them. 

Sera knows to gloss over his internal monologue, and she’s good about patiently returning to the point. “So what’s the place look like? Anything like the picture Kim e-mailed you?”

“I didn’t think to get a good look. Hang on a sec, let me check it out.” Jared backsteps off the porch. He bites the inside of his cheek as he catalogs every detail he can focus on of the place where he’ll hang his hat for a month or three.

Warped boards on the porch, covered by a barely-there, mostly scuffed-off coat of ocean gray paint. A cracked sidewalk with weeds growing up knee-high through the concrete. Peeling white paint over clapboards, the brick foundation painted muddy red so thick that he can barely see where the bricks themselves fit together, splintery windowsills that look like they don’t sit level, and an overall slight list to the right. About a hundred years old, he’ll guess. The kind of house where folks have enjoyed good, simple lives for a while and then moved on. Split into two apartments, as Kim told him. He’ll have the top floor apartment, and while he was warned gruffly that he’s to leave the guy on the bottom floor alone, shoot, he’ll at least have someone to say hey to. 

He squints at the spot at which the porch is clearly split in two parts. No duct tape marking out a line, no, but the wicker rocker chair and small table with intersecting coffee rings and broad-leafed elephant ear plant and pot of wilting African violets are all gathered neatly to the far side, with nothing on the other.

It’s not bad at all, and he’s stayed in enough dives in his day to know the difference between down-at-heel hominess and squalor. Some of the places he called home… good god. Motels that charged by the hour while he manned the check-in desks and tried not to snicker; shanty apartments over the bars where he pulled beer taps and washed glasses; and in one fantastic case, a tent city near to the canal digging ops. 

“Looks like home,” he says to Sera, who’s been patiently waiting. He grins until his cheeks hurt, knowing he’s lighting up like a kid, happily unconcerned with a need to act his age “Looks pretty sweet.”

“How long do you think you’ll last there, Jared?”

“You know there’s never any telling.”

“Wouldn’t have you any other way,” she replies, comfortable and easy. 

“See? This is why we get along so well. Marry me,” he offers, tongue firmly planted in cheek.

“That’d work out real well, if we could get through it with straight faces. Jared, you couldn’t even get through a fake date with Sandy McCoy at your Momma’s rotary club brunch.”

“At least I did try. Hey, hang on a second.” Jared sits his bags down, wincing and working out the stinging indentations in his fingers and palm where he’s been holding the heavy plastic straps too long. “I’ll walk you through a tour.”

“Here’s the door, here’s the stairs, here’s the kitchen?”

Jared blows a raspberry at her over the phone. “Aw, damn, that was nasty.” 

He lets her laugh at him while he wipes the spit off on the tail of his T-shirt, which is, okay, just about as gross. While he’s down there, he thrusts his hand in the capacious pocket of his favorite coffee-colored jacket, searching for the keys that have jingled in there all the way from Texas. “Give me a sec to get the door unlocked and I’ll walk you inside.”

Huh. No keys. Puzzled, he reaches into the other pocket, poking around. Still no luck.

“Don’t tell me. Let me guess,” Sera says, dryly amused.

“Shit on a shingle,” he says, amazed. How he loses track of so much, he’ll never have any clue. “I must have dropped the keychain somewhere along the way. Probably in the truck, unless it was McDonald’s this morning. Damn, I bet it was the McDonald’s off exit 27-B. I dropped my coffee and had to squat down to clean up the mess.” He rakes his hand through the strands of hair tangling over his eyes. “Can you Google up the location and call them for me?”

“Sure thing, but what are you going to do for now?”

“Ask the guy on the bottom floor, I guess, if he’s around.”

“What time is it there? Seven a.m.? He might be awake, yeah.” Sera pauses. Jared can almost see the gears and wheels turning in her head. “Problem is, we both know you were told to leave him alone. Right?”

Jared bites his lip in thought. “I’m not to disturb the guy downstairs, not on pain of death, nope.” Still, what else can he do? Kim, the guy who hired him – a friend of Sera’s aunt or something – is meant to be out of town until Monday, and as it stands now he doesn’t know a single soul in this beach village. And the wind blowing up from the ocean along with the rush of the waves filling his head? It’s frigging _cold_. Late autumn’s a funky place to hit the coast. “I’ll get my ass kicked, but I guess I gotta make the best of it.”

“Okay, honey. I’ll put in the phone calls for you.” She pauses. “Take care of yourself, Jared, y’hear?”

“Do my best for you. Bye, hon.” As Jared disconnects the call he stands back to eyeball the civilized half of the porch, taking in the details, forming his approach plan. This downstairs guy enjoys colors and textures, he thinks, and likes to put his feet up on the railing if the double scuffs-off of white paint are any giveaway. Anyone who kicks back has to be a decent type, easy-going and friendly, and so without any further ado he lopes to the downstairs door. 

Enjoying the way the cold beach breezes tickle up the overlong curls on the back of his neck, he knocks three times on the green-painted screen door and stands back, humming under his breath.

No answer. Huh. He knocks again, curious. 

Oh, damn. What if he _is_ still asleep? At seven a.m. on a weekend morning, he might well be. 

Cussing himself six ways from Sunday, Jared tries to retreat, running his palm along the porch rail for balance. A touch too hard and too carelessly, it appears, as a splinter rams under the meat of his palm and draws a startled shout of a curse from his lips, way too loud for this time of day.

And, as one might have figured, that draws the attention of Mr. Mysterious. Jared looks up from his examination of the beads of blood around the gray-painted sliver in his hand, already preparing his apologies, not coward enough to run but smart enough to cringe at the sound of locks rattling abruptly open and the screen door unlatching.

A sleep-ruffled dude peers out at him. The man’s eyes are squinted tight and oh yeah, he woke the poor bastard up. 

“Hey there,” Jared says fast, eager to make peace before war has a chance to start. “I am so sorry, honest I am, but I’m moving in upstairs today and I’ve gone and lost my keys.”

The guy retreats a pace further back in the safety of his apartment, for which Jared can’t blame him. He’s framed by shadow now, but rather than hiding his face he’s illuminated by a stray trick of the light until he appears as ghostly as a white wraith. The somberness of his mien makes Jared think of angels in stained-glass windows, not quite real, pale and pained, as if delivering good tidings sorrows their hearts.

His own heart goes out to this guy right away. “Hey,” he says, gentling his tone. Guy’s terrified. Jared can almost hear the rabbit-fast beat of his heart. And he can understand it, really he can. He’s aware of his own size and as he hasn’t shaved in a few days knows he’s disheveled as hell as well as haggard from all-night driving. He’d scare the bejeezus out of his own family if they were to see him right now. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m not gonna hurt you.”

The man’s fingers tighten around the molding on his door. “I don’t recognize you,” he says, pulling back a few more inches. “What’s your name?”

“Jared,” he says, starting forward to offer his hand for a shake, then thinking better of it. Not knowing what else to do with it --- he’s not accustomed to folks who don’t smile and step right up – he shoves it in his pocket and swallows down a wince. “Jared Padalecki.”

“Oh.” The man’s face goes dead, that’s the only way to describe it, blank and impassive. “Yeah, you. Kim said.”

It’s a start. “He hired me to help fix up some of the beach houses,” Jared explains, hoping he’ll corroborate facts old Mr. Manners was likely to have passed along, figuring that might reassure this guy.

He really can’t keep calling the pale man “this guy”, though, can he? “What’s your name? Mr. Manners didn’t tell me.”

“Jensen.” He doesn’t offer a last name, fading backwards fast. “There’s a spare key in the bottom of the mailbox.” A vague point toward the porch railing with a tin box nailed to a beam. 

“Thanks, Jensen, I –“ Even as Jared’s speaking, Jensen makes tracks, disappearing back in his apartment and shutting the door with a firm push, locks clicking and tumbling in place. 

Jared stares, baffled. What is this guy, a recluse or a hermit or something? Why? 

_This could get interesting,_ he thinks as he digs in the mailbox for the key. When he finds it, he forgets all about Jensen in the face of the excitement of letting himself into his new home.

Later on, he’ll realize what an understatement “interesting” was, but that’s then and this is now.

***

His first step on the tread of the interior stairwell leading up to his new place produces a mighty creak, a _pop_ of the floorboards that has him drawing his foot back with a startled curse. He half thinks he’s broken the step until cautious prodding with the toe of his sneaker tells him it’s still intact, just noisy as all hell.

No way he can be quiet about moving his stuff in, can he? Not like he has all that much, just a couple duffels with jeans and hoodies and boxers and socks and the boxes with all his PS2 stuff in them. Oh, and his duffel bag with some books, and that big old stuffed German Shepherd squishy Sera gave him to remind him of Sadie; right, he’s also got the sheets and the quilt his grandma made him bring along this time. And the crate of pots and pans he picked up at the Salvation Army back in Arkansas somewhere when he remembered he didn’t have so much as a frying pan after that time he had to leave Wyoming in a hurry.

Jared sucks his lower lip between his teeth, worrying the soft flesh, considering going back to his truck to try and find some kind of comfortable position to curl up in and nap. Won’t be the first time he’s done as much, and not the last, he’s sure. It’s just not manners to raise a ruckus while Jensen’s trying to sleep in.

But when he steps out onto the porch, trying to keep it quiet, he sees that Jensen’s awake and settled in out there, sock feet propped on the railing just as Jared had guessed was a likely habit, hunched in on himself with a bright green pottery mug clasped between both palms. Steam rises off the top along with a mouth-watering smell of rich, strong coffee.

“Jensen,” Jared greets him, relieved. “Were you getting up anyway?”

Jensen flinches and takes a quick sideways look at Jared. He mumbles something not entirely coherent, possibly not even words. The puffiness of his eyes behind a pair of silver-rimmed glasses, their lenses smoky shaded in the morning light – he’s heard about the kind that shift between sunglasses and regular; that’s awesome – anyway, those tell Jared that while Jensen might be awake, he’s not too happy about it and a wise man won’t pester him before he’s gotten through his mug of coffee.

Jared holds his hands up, palms out, grinning wide and easy at Jensen. “No hard feelings about before? I make a lot of noise, I know. My friend Sera, she always says I’m like a bronco running wild through a glassware store.”

Slight frown from Jensen while he takes a sip. “Thought it was ‘bull in a china shop’,” he mumbles after he swallows, his voice rough around the edges, low-pitched, raspy like he smoked once upon a time. 

Jared laughs. “She likes to do things different.” He finds a good place he thinks won’t break to park his ass on the porch railing and chafes his cold fingers. “Does it ever warm up around here during the day?”

Jensen shrugs, and that’s all Jared gets.

He tries again. “So, probably gonna make a big racket getting my stuff up the stairs. I’ll be as quick about it as I can. That okay?”

Jensen raises one shoulder and tosses back coffee. Judging by the steam, it’s a few degrees shy of boiling and Jared wonders if he wasn’t a smoker but has instead scraped his throat raw by taking his morning jolt so hot.

Silence lies thick between broken only by the soft noises of swallowing. Jensen doesn’t look back at him, focusing bleary/intense on the otherwise empty street in front of them, unpaved and coated with dun-colored sand. 

Jared lets it go on, hoping for something, until he concedes that it’s not going to happen right now. Some guys are just like Jensen in the morning, even if he himself never has been. It’s not personal, he figures. Why would it be?

“Take it easy,” he says, standing up straight. “See you around, Jen.”

Jensen’s face shutters off. “Don’t call me nicknames.”

Jared shrugs. “No problem, man. Jensen. Sorry.”

He thinks he catches the faintest upturn of Jensen’s lips – damn, if he ever really smiled he’d be a heartbreaker – and a _chuff_ that might be a laugh if it got a chance to breathe.

All in all, it brightens his outlook considerably. This’ll work out, no problem. It’ll just take time and coffee, both of which are cures for almost any ills he knows of.

He waves back at Jensen, who doesn’t acknowledge the gesture, and lopes to his red ’92 Ford Explorer. Not thinking, he finds himself looking for Harley and Sadie in the back, hanging their big heads over the tailgate and panting at him with happy doggy love in their loyal gazes. When he doesn’t see them, the remembrance of "why not" hits him like a sucker punch, same as every time before. 

Okay, so time doesn’t heal _all_ wounds. The wind wailing in from the beach sounds like a low, unhappy dog’s whine. Jared gives himself a moment to miss them, tightens his jaw, and moves on. 

That’s what he does, and he’s gotten pretty good at it by now.

***

As it turns out, the upstairs apartment is better than he'd hoped. Kim had mentioned “furnished”, which is always a bonus but usually means a camp bed, a single-burner stove and a dorm-size refrigerator. This place is loaded according to Jared’s standards; a Murphy bed and a full harvest-gold kitchen, and a massive bowl of a tub that he thinks he might fit all the way into.

It’s cute as anything he’s ever seen. Sera would be in raptures over this place. 

Once again, he’s forgotten about Jensen as he clomps around, his sneakers thunking loud and then his bare feet slapping on the threadbare carpeting and the wooden bathroom floor.

When the door downstairs slams, he winces and curses.

Okay, so it’ll take longer than a while. He’ll still get there in the end.

***

A few hours later, he’s not half as pleased with his new kitchen. There’s no microwave, and granted, that’s a luxury item, except he never has been great at cooking that doesn’t involve tossing a match onto a grill or pushing a button. 

People always say “now we’re cooking with gas!” like it’s the only way you can fix a decent meal. Jared has his doubts. How can cooking with gas be all that when you’ve got to stick your head in the oven while carrying a lit match, hunting for the smell of gas to tell you where to try and light the pilot while not burning off your eyebrows? As it stands, he’s smelling the stink of scorched hair far more strongly than the bitter stench of burned toast. 

Actually, that might not be a bad thing, he thinks as he scrapes black carbon off his toast and hunts in his small bag of provisions for the peanut butter and jelly he bought at a gas station a few towns back. With a name like Smuckers, it’s got be good, and oh yeah, it is. He props his length against the kitchen wall, gazing idly out the window at the squirrels swarming the bird feeder, rolling the hearty peanut taste and the sweetness of grape jelly around in his mouth. 

It’s not a bad meal, tasty enough to munch his way through, scraping the Jif jar empty on his sixth slice. There’s just enough jelly to smear over the toast for the flavor, and then he tosses bread wrapper and empty jars in the trash, licking the last smears off his thumb. He reaches over to unlatch the window he’s been dreaming through, hoping he’ll get some breezes off the ocean to clear out the smell of burned bread. 

On the stiff burst of cold sea winds, he smells the ocean, sure, then he gets full-on hit with the scent of tomatoes and basil and garlic. The aroma has serious stopping power, hunger knotting in his never-quite-satisfied stomach. 

Wow. Is that Jensen cooking?

He doesn’t even think, just follows his nose down the creaky flight of stairs, bare feet and all, and then he’s knocking on Jensen’s door to see if he can borrow a cup of lunch.

Jensen doesn’t answer, and Jared can’t hear him moving around inside. At least, not until he catches the tiniest clatter of a pot lid somewhere. No one comes to answer his knock, though, not even when he tries a second time.

His stomach disappointed and his mood vaguely disquieted, he tries to shrug it off and decides he’ll head back up to fetch his shoes. Might as well wander around the town on foot and see if he can find a sub shop or something. Italian would be _great_ right about now.

***

Thing is, when he turns around, he finds himself face to face with this shortish guy, or rather more like this guy’s nose to his chest, but he’s used to that kind of thing.

What he’s not so accustomed to is a hard working man’s hand planted flat over his sternum, shoving him backwards. 

“Whoa!” Jared stumbles, catching his balance on the porch railing by lucky chance, and stares at his assailant. What’s this guy’s problem? He looks like one of those mean junkyard dogs that’s been trained to bite rather than wag his tail. Short, sure, but built tough as nails, ropy muscles in his bare forearms and his stocky legs, with blue eyes narrowed in suspicion and disapproval. Whoever this is, he’s got a hate-on for Jared, and Jared is starting to wonder if he’s side-stepped into some alternative world because no one ever hates him right away. At least not that he knows of. Now there’s Jensen’s distancing act and this guy’s blatant distaste, and what the hell’s going on?

“What are you doin’?” the guy demands, another smoker’s voice, the kind that could curl sexy as the smell of bourbon if he dropped the attitude and talked nice. “You harassing him?”

“What? Me? No,” Jared protests, standing his ground. “What’s your problem?”

As soon as it’s spoken, he realizes he shouldn’t have said that. The short guy lights up with a dark glitter, like he lives in the hopes of tussling with folks, and he shifts his weight in best bantamweight boxer style. Jared eyes him, wondering how hard he hits and why he’s about to get popped one.

“Take it easy,” he tries to gentle this scrapper down. “I’m Jared.”

The man’s chin comes up. “So what, you’ve moved in upstairs, yeah?”

“More or less.”

The man eyes him, weighing him in the balance. He snorts. “Looks like a hell of a lot ‘more’, son.”

Okay, now Jared’s getting pissed. “I’m not your son, _boy_.”

The man’s nostrils flare. “I ought to turn you over my knee.”

“Like to see you try.” Jared shows his teeth and makes “bring it” hand gestures, curling his fingers in taunting pulls. Manners are manners but enough is e-damn-nough. “We can walk away from this if you want, but I’m not gonna stand here and take a lickin' when I don’t have a clue what I’m supposed to have done.”

“Hmmph.” Shorty examines him, irritation amending a couple of degrees. “So you don’t know. Huh.”

“Don’t know what?”

Shorty ignores his question, shaking straight honey-brown hair, rough-cut at chin length, out of his face, tucking it behind his ears. He’s still ready as a firecracker to throw down; for right now, Jared can see he’s decided not to. “Look, here’s how it works. You leave him –“ he jerks his head at Jensen’s door – “alone, and you and I won’t have any problems. Clear?”

“Jesus, it’s not like I planned to stalk him or anything.”

“See that you don’t.” 

“Just being neighborly.”

“Yeah, well, don’t do that either. He doesn’t need you.” Shorty glares before turning his back and knocking on Jensen’s door, leaving Jared confused and fuming behind him, mouth working in search of a comeback that, in the style of all truly needed comebacks, doesn’t come at all.

He does notice that short man’s knock follows a pattern. Knock, pause, knock-knock, pause, knock, pause, knock-knock-knock. That’s weird, and what’s weirder is that he hears the soft scuff of sock feet approaching Jensen’s door right away. 

The door cracks open, and Shorty rounds to glare at Jared. “Jensen, hold on. You, tall-ass guy. I thought we’d come to an understanding.”

“We did,” Jared says, wounded now. He’s not stupid or anything.

“Then get on your way,” Shorty snaps. “Jensen, you want me to take care of this joker?”

“Chris,” is all he hears Jensen say, sounding like he’s tired. 

Shorty – Chris – blows hair off his forehead, clearly annoyed. He stomps inside, slamming the door in a pointed reminder to Jared.

Jared, for his part, shifts from foot to foot. He’s got half a mind to knock too, to make sure this Chris guy’s not gonna hurt Jensen. He’s seen jealous boyfriends do some real asshole things. If that’s how this works. Hard to tell.

He waits on the porch, undecided, until he hears two men laughing inside, comfortable, and understands that these two are on good terms. And with that much knowledge, he can’t protest.

Doesn’t mean he has to like it, even if he doesn’t know why.

He’s leaning against the porch rail, idly thinking that it’s actually really comfortable, when the soft scuff of sneakers alerts him to the fact that he’s not alone. Again. Glancing up, he sees a guy ambling up to the house, following a yellow Lab on a woven leather leash. The man nods to him, offering a neutral-to-friendly quirk of the lips; the dog perks up, sniffing the air.

It’s like a taste of better times and pure instinct to drop to one knee and extend his hand for the dog to sniff. The Lab hesitates, but only for a moment, before tugging its walker the few paces necessary. It buries its cold nose in Jared’s palm and starts wagging when he rubs behind the silky ears. 

“Oh, hey, who’s a good boy?” Jared croons, tousling the dog’s fur. The Lab smells like salt and wet dog and by damn, it hurts. “You’re a handsome guy, aren’t you? Yeah, you are.”

“He’s a she, actually,” the man on the other end of the leash offers. “Her name’s Hannah.”

“Pretty name for a pretty girl,” Jared praises without missing a beat, leaning forward to plant a kiss atop her golden head. She eats the affection up, nuzzling his hand and whining low in her throat. “She’s a doll-baby.”

“She can be.” The man tilts his head. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen her take to someone like this. She's not too fond of Jensen, and she lives with the guy.”

Huh. Jensen doesn't seem like the kind of man to keep companion animals. He guesses that goes to remind him not to judge books by their covers. It's another point in his favor, too, owning a pretty girl like Hannah.

“Dogs know dog lovers.” Jared stands reluctantly, promising himself that if Hannah’s going to be a regular visitor he’ll brave a trip to a pet store to get her some jerky chews or a rawhide bone. How long's it been since he went buying dog treats? Three years, four?

“Mmm,” the man says, as if that’s good enough, and it kind of is. He’s quiet, this guy, a welcomely peaceful type after the crash-boom that was Chris. Ash-blond hair tickles the tops of his shoulders, combed only by the sea air; his mouth is a kind mouth, more accustomed to grinning than scowling. Looks like a comfortable sort of guy, a dude you could kick back and enjoy a beer with.

“Jared,” he says, offering his hand. 

For a change, this guy takes it and shakes briefly. “Steve.” He chews the inside of his cheek, clearly debating on whether or not to say something, then shrugs. “Look, don’t take Chris the wrong way. He gets territorial when it comes to Jen.”

 _Jen._ Jared takes note of Steve's use of the nickname. “I noticed.”

Steve rubs the back of his neck, looking uncomfortable. “Yeah.”

“Hey, don’t worry about it. I’m a big guy. A short tempered junkyard puppy won’t make me cry or anything.” Jared wrinkles his nose at Steve, who laughs shortly in return. 

“He’s a piece of work,” Steve agrees. “Chris, that is. Okay. Can I offer some advice?”

Phrased that way it gets his back up right away, but he’ll give Steve the benefit of the doubt until he has reason to change his mind. Jared schools his face into a careful expression of neutrality. “Sure, go ahead.”

Steve gives him a narrow look, like he knows exactly what Jared’s thinking. “Best to stay away from Jensen. He doesn’t do great with strangers, and if there’s any kind of tremor in the Force Chris really will go ballistic, and sometimes he won’t listen to Jen telling him to back down, nor me either.” He holds up his hand to stave off Jared’s sputtered protest. “Don’t… just don’t ask. Okay? Way I’ve heard from old Mr. Manners, you’re only here for two or three months anyway, so don’t make this into a big deal. Do us all a favor and leave well enough alone.”

Jared mulls this over for all of three second before he's got to get moving or start swinging. “Don’t want to make waves,” he says, neither confirming nor opposing, pushing himself off the railing. He’s about tired of these guys assuming he’s out to harass Jensen for whatever reason, and not even the sweetness of the Lab is enough to tempt him into staying down here any longer. 

He gets the feeling Steve wants to smooth it over. Too bad. He’s off the porch and loping down the road in his bare feet, pointed toward the rushing of the waves, wanting nothing more than to see uninterrupted, uncomplicated waters.

As he walks, his cell phone rings in his jacket pocket. He flicks it open on reflex, and pauses when he sees SERA’S CELL on the caller ID.

Hangs fire through all four rings before it goes to voice mail and stuffs the phone back in his pocket, disquieted and itchy underneath his skin.

He doesn’t stop again until he reaches the beach, where the crash of waves against shore is so loud he can’t hear his own thoughts.

***

Of course, Sera being Sera, calls him back within ten minutes, before the sand under his ass has had a chance to warm up enough to be comfortable. “Jared, don't you dare try to avoid me. Now tell me what’s wrong,” she orders, zeroing in to the bulls-eye without him having to say anything, that’s how well she knows him.

He fidgets, tugging at the ragged cuff of his right jeans leg, scratching underneath at his bare ankle. “Me? I’m fine.”

She calls bullshit right away, he can tell by the unladylike snort that speaks volumes. 

“Honest, Sera. Everything’s great.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“I’ll swear it on a stack of Bibles.”

“And the Lord would strike you down with lightning. Tell me what happened. Now.”

She’s not the kind of friend who’ll give up, for which he’s usually thankful, and he knows enough to pick his battles, so he surrenders and spills the whole strange story while she listens, patient, not interrupting except with sympathetic murmurs. 

When he’s done, his cheeks are burning hot and he’s worrying away long strands on his ankle cuff. “So what do you think I did?” he asks. 

She’s quiet for too long this time. 

“Sera?”

“I don’t know,” she says at last, and he can tell there’s something she’s not telling _him_ now. 

“Sera –“

“Let me think about it, Jared. Overnight. Okay?”

“And here I thought you saw all, heard all, knew all.”

“Hey. I’m good, not God. Give a girl a chance.” 

They share a companionable quietness for a few, both listening to the sea rolling ever on to shore.

“What do you think I should do?” he asks at last.

“What do you think you should do?” she returns.

“No fair answering a question with a question.”

“Life’s not fair, Jared.” She says it with love. “Look, here’s what I’ve got right now. This guy wants to be left alone. Maybe that’s what you should do.” She overrides his instant protest. “Jared, unless you put him completely out of your mind, you _are_ gonna be down there in his face every time you think of him. Okay? That’s who you are, and that’s your way. It’s not a bad way to be except when people truly don’t want to be bothered. This Chris guy sounds like an ass, but he’s probably picked up on that right away. You’re not exactly subtle.”

Jared grumps at her. “I’m not that bad.”

“Yes, you are.” She sighs quietly. “You don’t want to leave him alone, do you?”

Ah-ha. He shifts position, not wanting to answer that question, which is answer enough for her.

“He must be something else,” she remarks without any special emphasis, like they’re talking about the weather. She knows how dangerous it is to approach this kind of turn in the conversation, and keeps pushing, every damn time. “Something special, huh?”

“I…” He scrubs the heel of his hand over his face. “If I said I wasn’t sure, would you think I’m nuts?”

“Kinda do already. Jared? What was that?”

He’s sat up, tensing like a hunting hound when it gets the scent, on his guard against any sudden moves, and of course she’s sensed the change in his mood. “Sera, shh,” he hisses, cupping one hand around his mouth and the phone. “He’s here.”

“What?” she demands, albeit in a muffled whisper. “Out there? As in, within eyesight?”

“Yeah.” Jared doesn’t move, not an easy task for him, tracking Jensen’s progress. Neither Chris nor Steve follows in his wake. Hannah lopes beside him, her leash loosely wrapped around his wrist, her head down, a dejected dog if he ever saw one, and he thinks he knows why when she shyly pushes her head against Jensen’s hip and he doesn’t pet her.

It’s on his mind to be pissed over refusing a dog the love it’s asking for so hungrily when he registers the way Jensen’s shoulders are slumped and his hands are tucked into his pockets and his head is lowered. He’s not even looking where he’s going, only stopping when Hannah barks and gets between him and the lapping tide.

He knows this is a bad idea, but… “I’m gonna go talk to him.”

“Jared, what did we just finish discussing?”

“I know, I know –“

“Jared. Come on, now, behave. I don’t think you should.”

“I’ve got to know,” he tries to make her understand. “I’ll leave him alone if I can only know why.”

“One day you’re going to push the wrong person too far,” she says. “Again.” 

And that’s not playing fair, not at all. He stabs the disconnect button without blinking, gone cold inside where there are empty pockets that are never gonna be filled again, dark corners he doesn’t like to think about and is mostly okay with forgetting.

Until there are days like these.

Keeping Jensen in his line of sight, he clambers ungracefully to his feet. He pauses long enough to try and brush some of the sand, caked like brown sugar, off his legs, and that’s when he catches sight of movement from the corner of his eye.

Hannah barks, nudging Jensen, who turns to face Chris and Steve walking out to meet them. They haven’t noticed him yet, and he draws back on pure instinct. Steve has his arm around Chris’s shoulders in a way that’s just an inch left of “casual”, and even though the sun’s behind Jensen and his face can’t be seen, Jared thinks he’s smiling.

He exhales, long and slow. 

All right, then. 

***

What he comes up with, his plan of attack, well... maybe it’s a dumb idea, but that’s his specialty. He jumps in with both feet and look out below.

_Here I go._

***

When Jensen comes back from his walk on the beach, Hannah padding in front of him on the end of her braided leather leash, Jared’s waiting for them on the porch steps. Chris and Steve aren’t with him, and that’s a relief, but he wouldn’t let it stop him if they were.

Jensen stops a few paces off the porch. Hannah turns to look at him, whining. He frowns and doesn’t say anything, to her or to Jared.

Okay, so it’s on him to start. Jared rests his forearms on his knees and lets his hands hang free, showing he’s harmless. “Got time to talk?”

Jensen draws in a breath. “Jared?”

Jared raises an eyebrow. “You couldn’t tell?” Humor tweaks his smile. “And here I thought I was too pretty to forget so soon.”

Jensen laughs, sounding surprised at the noise he’s making. “No need to be humble.”

Jared relaxes a little. This is a good start. “So, do you have a few?”

“What are my chances of getting past you if I say no?”

He doesn’t sound freaked out. More like he’s teasing, albeit uncertainly, like this isn’t something he does much. The small twitches of his fingers give him away, one of them twisting the sleeve of his white sweater. Hannah crowds his shins, plopping down at his feet.

Slow and steady, then. “Chances are a hundred percent,” Jared says casually. “Seriously, though, my heart can’t take much more of what today’s been like. I know I put my foot in it somewhere somehow, man, and I’ve got to know what I did so I can set it right. That’s all.”

Around the middle of that speech, Jensen started looking at him funny. When he’s done, “Are you for real?” is what Jen asks, breathless with stifled humor.

“Are you?” Jared shoots back.

Jensen weighs that one. “Sometimes I wonder.” He bounces his sneaker-shod foot on the path leading to the house, paf-paf-paf, sending up tiny clouds of dusty sand. “Why does it matter so much to you?”

Jared appreciates the direct curiosity – that’s more of what he’s used to – and responds in kind. “’Cause I can’t sit by when something’s wrong,” he says, rearranging himself so that he’s lying on the steps. Sprawling is second nature. Jensen tilts his head, waiting until Jared’s comfortable again. The silence between them isn’t bad. “’Cause I like to get along with people, unless they’re assholes, anyway, and it drives me nuts when stuff throws me.”

Jensen tug, tug, tugs at his sleeve. Lets it go to adjust his smoky glasses. “You’re serious,” he says neutrally.

Jared nods.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Jensen reaches down. Hannah nuzzles up into his palm, and he hesitantly scratches her ears. Jared knows acceptance when he sees it, and it warms him deep inside. All right, then. All right.

***

“You’re sure?” Jared peers over Jensen’s head, catching a faint whiff of that morning’s shampoo, nothing fancy, just soap and warm skin smell. He’s two steps behind Jensen, not wanting to crowd him but not wanting to get left behind, either. The apartment inside is dark, not a single light left on anywhere. He guesses Jensen didn’t plan on being gone past full sunset.

The dark doesn’t seem to bother him, or Hannah, who takes off as soon as he drops her leash. Her toenails skitter and click on the hardwood floors. Hey, much nicer than the upstairs. He wishes he could see the rest of it.

“You mind if I turn on a light?” he asks, already sweeping his palm over the wall to hunt for a switch, realizing too late that he’s pushing his luck again.

Big relief when Jensen chuckles, almost a nothing-noise but enough to betray his amusement. “You’re just a great big kid, aren’t you?”

“So I’ve been told,” Jared replies amiably. “That, and a big dumb hound dog, and a big goofy-ass clown. Names can never hurt me.”

“Always ‘big’, no matter what?”

“Yep,” Jared agrees, cheerful. He figures Jensen will want to know exactly how tall – people always do – so he volunteers the information. “Six feet five in my socks.”

“Jesus.”

“Naw, just Texan. They grow us bigger down there.”

A smile teases at the corners of Jensen’s eyes. “Yeah. I remember.”

Jared perks up. “You’ve been there before?”

“Grew up just outside Dallas.” Jensen kicks off his sneakers and slides forward instead of walking, sock feet slipping over the floors, moving whisper-soft. “Kick off any sand you’re carrying around on the mat, would you?”

Jared understands this isn’t something he’s allowed to ask questions about and reluctantly lets it go. He guesses it wouldn’t be fair to push on this particular matter, as he shuts up tighter than a clam when people try to ask him about San Antone.

He watches instead as Jensen sheds his jacket, the supple leather releasing a wave of rawhide smell that makes Jared suddenly ache for Texas, and it’s been years since that happened. “Yeah, go ahead.”

“What?” Jared’s lost the plot.

“The light, idiot.” Jensen half-turns, his small smile illuminated by the streetlight shining in through his open door. In that moment, Jared sees him as if it’s the first time he’d gotten a good look at Jensen, and his lips part in an “o”. Jensen’s gorgeous, and he gets Chris’s attitude now. Oh. Okay.

Wow.

“Um, what? Oh! The light. Yeah.” He’s having trouble stringing the right words together, he’s so thrown by the sudden comprehension. Hell, he can barely think in a straight line. Why didn’t he notice before? Fuck, he’s an idiot sometimes.

If Jensen’s picked up on any of this inner turmoil – and given the burning heat in Jared’s ears and his grimaces, it’d be hard not to – he’s not bothered by it. By the same token, neither is he quick with the reassurances. He hangs his jacket up, tugs down the sleeves of his sweater until they half-cover the knuckles, and tugs a long amulet on a thin leather cord out of his collar. 

Jared tracks the small lump of metal – he can’t tell what it’s supposed to be – as it comes to rest over Jensen’s breastbone. Can’t look away from the cord around Jensen’s throat, slim and dark, hanging on him with the comfort of old habit. 

_That’s a damn lucky necklace,_ he thinks, and has just enough sense left to know that’s crazy talk.

He clears his throat, shuffles his feet, and works his knuckles against his hip. “Where is it?” he blurts after a minute of silence which apparently doesn’t bother Jensen but is too much for him. “The light switch, I mean. Can’t see a thing in here, man.” Which is a lie. He can still see Jensen’s face, his throat, that necklace, all of that, no problem, and he’s having to think of toads, truck stop restrooms, old mayonnaise jars, anything disgusting he can come up with, not to pop a hard-on because who knows how skittish Jensen would react to that. 

A thought occurs to him and spills out without permission. “You must know this place backwards and forwards.”

Jensen stops, his shoulders a touch too stiff all of a sudden. “What do you mean?”

“To walk around in the dark the way you are. Like you don’t even need the light.”

Jensen snorts, not quite a laugh, brittle as a dry twig in midwinter. “That a fact.” It’s not a question.

“Now what did I –“

“Nothing. It’s nothing.” Jensen’s smile is a little strained now, but he’s still got it on offer. “The light switch is by the door, around bicep height on me. On you, God only knows.”

“Shut up, I’m not that much bigger than you.”

“A few inches can make a lot of difference to a guy,” Jensen answers so innocently that it takes a moment to sink in, and then Jared’s gaping briefly, then loosing a guffaw that lifts a heavy weight off his shoulders. Jensen glances his way from underneath ridiculously long, girly lashes, and it heats him faster than a shot of good whiskey.

***

Jensen’s heading for the kitchen without even being asked, and Jared’s stomach hasn’t even growled or anything. When he tried to protest, manners coming into play a moment too late, Jensen waves a hand at him and mutters something about the ocean air making people hungry enough to eat their own shoes, shut up and sit down and hope you aren’t one of those guys who won’t eat spaghetti without meatballs.

Jared’s good for five minutes edging into ten, knitting his fingers together and balancing them over one knee, legs splayed open as per habit, toes curling into the single carpet Jensen owns that he can see, arranged just so under the small glass-topped table by his couch. Everything’s in perfect order down here, edges squared off and symmetrically aligned. Not a speck of dust nor a stray grain of sand minus what he’s brought in himself. The tang of lemon Pledge just barely loses to the intoxicating aromas of tomatoes, wine and peppers that makes Jared’s mouth water. Damn, it’s been forever since he had a home-cooked meal. Sera’s worse than he is when it comes to fending for herself; if it’s not salad in a bag or plucked fresh from a bushel basket at the supermarket, forget it.

“Mind if I get up and look around?”

“Nah,” Jensen replies, tasting the sauce, touching the tip of a wooden spoon to his tongue. 

Jared is instantly desperately jealous of the spoon and his not-so-little problem decides to make its presence known in a big way. He coughs, tries to tug his shirt-tails down, gives up, and stands up fast, turning away from Jensen to try and adjust and disguise. Like that’ll work. 

Jensen’s paused at the stove, tongue withdrawing slowly back between his lips. “You okay over there?”

“Fine as frog hair.” Jared shoves his hands in his pockets, realizes what a bad idea that is, whips them out and tucks them under his armpits. “Anything I need to stay away from?”

“What?” Jensen ‘s tone is odd, and for a moment, one quick, hot moment, Jared’s caught breathless at the way he looks at him, like he’s seeing right through skin and bone and examining the heart and mind beneath. It’s not at all comfortable and it’s like catching on fire all at once.

He tries to moisten his lips and fails. “When I’m looking around. Do I need to stay away from anything that might break? Bull in a china shop, remember.”

Something flickers in Jensen’s face, an odd illusion of – disappointment? Before Jared can question it, it’s gone, Jensen turned back to adjusting heat and tossing in a handful of fresh basil that produces a whole new burst of savory scent. “It’s all pretty accident-proof in here,” he says without inflection, stirring mechanically. “Hannah. You know.”

Makes sense to Jared, even if nothing else does, or has all day long. “Uh. Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.” He means what he says: don’t mention it. Full stop.

Jared feels about five years old, smacked on the wrist for trying to sneak an extra cookie, and he’s starting to wonder if Sera was right and if he shouldn’t just get out while the getting’s good. Except the spaghetti sauce is driving him nuts with renewed hunger, and oh, hey, is that one of those cool pin boxes by the stereo system? He makes for the shadow-boxed case, pushing his palm flat against the prickly ends and grinning goofily when the pins rustle like wheat in the wind and push up on the other side in the shape of his hand. “Awesome.”

“The pins? Yeah. Steve got that for me.” Jensen smirks. “Chris got me the sand art castle.”

Jared looks around for said object d’art and belly-laughs when he spots what Jensen must have been talking about, a six-inch-high chunk of sparkly rainbow “sand” shaped like a bad Disney dream. He picks it up and bits of glitter fall off. “You’re shittin’ me.”

“My hand to God, I’m not.”

“Fuck. What is he, blind?” Jared nearly drops the sand castle when he tries to toss it from palm to palm, and almost misses Jensen’s short hitch of breath. “Hey, are you okay?”

Jensen shakes his head like an irritated dog. He doesn’t turn around. “Quit asking me that, would you? If I’m not all right, I’ll let you know, or I’ll kick you out.” He barks humorlessly. “Or, you know, I’ve got Chris on speed dial. I’ll ask him over to whip your ass.”

Jared scoffs. “He can try. He’s what, five-foot-seven?”

“Five-ten, or so he says. And hey, don’t underestimate the little guys.” Jensen points with his spoon, and suddenly this weirdly changeable atmosphere is smooth and easy again, like they’ve been friends for years and this is just another night of hanging out together. “Garlic bread?”

“Hell, yeah. Can you scorch the top just a bit?”

“Demanding, aren’t you?”

“And that’s why people love me.”

“I’m sure.” Jensen’s small smile doesn’t look like it’s going anywhere now. His cheeks are faintly pink from the heat rising off the stove, and he has freckles on his nose, and Jared is about to crack something from the need to charge him and kiss the man’s soft-looking lips.

Jared doesn’t understand Jensen. He accepts that maybe he never will, and that’s okay because it doesn’t seem to matter now that it’s just the two of them and Jensen’s let him inside more than just the place he lives, actually into where he _lives._ There’s a difference, and Jared’s getting that now like never before.

Trouble with Jared, as Sera loves to tell him, usually after one too many glasses of wine, is that when he’s happy he galumphs out of control (no, seriously, she actually uses the word “galumph”). She tells him he needs a leash worse than any dog and some obedience training, as when he’s happy he doesn’t stop to consider anything but sharing the love, bounding up to hug the stuffing out of the ones he loves or even random strangers. It’s endearing, she says, but will get him in a world of trouble one day when she’s not around to cover his ass.

And it does, right then and there. The red sauce smells so good and Jensen looks like a shy forest animal and he really, really wants to kiss him or at least squeeze him around the waist, so he doesn’t _think_ , he just pushes off from where he’s been looking at wall art and ugly-ass sandcastles and skids over Jensen’s kitchen floor in Tom Cruise Cocktail style, ready to deliver the Jared-brand full-body bear tacklehug. 

Right at the moment when, as it happens, Jensen’s caught up a glass bottle of olive oil and has aimed himself at a cabinet across the way. It’s too late for either to stop or dodge in time, and it’s like Jared’s watching both of them from the outside, in slow-motion, not playfully hip-checking Jensen but full-on slamming into him with all his not inconsiderable weight. 

Down, down, down they go, Jensen’s startled yelp loud in his ears, and all his own long limbs that damn well refuse to do a thing but topple over, tangling with Jensen’s in a hopeless pretzel. 

It’d be hilarious except it’s not, not at all. 

After that first startled cry, Jensen makes no other noise; Jared isn’t sure he’s breathing. Time slows down and he can feel every muscle going slack, Jensen not trying to break his fall, just tumbling bonelessly. He tries to twist so that he’ll land underneath, hoping that the bizarre time-lag will help him pull off a super-hero move, which is of course about as dumb as it sounds, and not gonna happen. 

He has to watch, helpless, as Jensen’s eyes shut and he falls, the olive oil slipping from his slackened grip to crash on the floor too close for comfort, saffron yellow slipperiness and sharp basil sting splashing in wide arcs amidst crystalline sprays of shattered glass. As Jensen’s palms hit the floor, crimson drops spray from a splinter of glass scraping over his hand. He doesn’t make a sound. 

Jared has one last, forever-long second to stare miserably at Jensen and really let it sink in that he is the biggest jackass on the face of the earth, and not enough time at all to prepare for all the hell that’s about to break loose.

Reality kicks in when he hits the floor, half on Jensen, skidding in the spilled olive oil; the clock starts to tick normal seconds away when he hears the soft hiss of pain from the guy who he wanted to kiss, not try to kill. 

“Oh, _fuck_. Jen? Jensen, are you okay? Shit, that’s a dumb question,” he babbles, trying to sit up on his knees, acutely aware that he’s straddling one of Jensen’s legs and embarrassed as hell, but not wanting to risk slipping on the oil and collapsing on him a second time. Jensen’s eyes are screwed tightly shut and his sharp teeth are sunk in his lower lip, face pulled taut in a grimace. “Jesus. Talk to me, man.” He tries patting Jensen’s cheek, his chest starting to hurt, on the edge of hyperventilating. “Say something. You awake? You okay?”

Jensen turns his head and Jared wants to stand up and twist around to kick his own ass. Of course he’s not okay. He must have hit his head. “Can you look at me?” he asks, searching his memory for first aid 101. He needs to see if Jensen’s pupils are blown, if they react to light, some other stuff he hopes will come to him to check for a concussion. 

Beneath him, Jensen is shaking as if he’s freezing cold, and that scares Jared silly. He’s never seen anyone react that way to a fall; it’s not normal. 

“C’mon, Jen, look at me,” he tries coaxing.

Jensen bites his lip harder, drawing a tiny bead of blood around the white dents from the pressure of his teeth, and pushes at Jared. “No. Get off.”

“Jensen, please. Don’t move, okay? In case you’re hurt. Just look at me.”

“No.” Jensen bucks, trying to heave Jared off. “Don’t look at me. Don’t you look at me.”

“Goddamnit, Jensen!” Jared swears, maybe too loudly, because Jensen stiffens, silent and still as the grave, like a wounded animal trying to play dead. “Don’t do that, man, come on.” He tries to thumb Jensen’s eyelids open. “Dude, I swear, if you don’t let me get a look at your eyes –“

The roar surprises him, so deep and enraged that he flashes back to hunting trips and enraged bears. He shoots up and skids around, falling on his ass amidst shards of broken bottle, but not fast enough to dodge Chris’s fist in his face. He chokes and topples on his back. 

Chris follows, bellowing things Jared can’t even call words, pinning him at the waist and whaling on him with a fist like a hammer. Steve, must be Steve, is hollering at Chris and trying to pull him off from behind, hauling at Chris’s waist with both arms and accomplishing jack shit. Jared has no idea what’s going on or how to stop it, and only enough presence of mind to try and raise his hands to protect his face because he thinks Chris really might kill him if he can shake Steve off.

“Stop it!” someone’s yelling, and it takes a few long, distorted seconds for Jared to figure out that’s not Steve. “Stop it, Chris! Get off of him!” Blood-smeared fingers under the too-long cuff of a red-stained sweater thrust between them and catch Chris by the chin.

Chris rears back in surprise, and Jared’s been in too many fist fights not to recognize his momentary advantage. He heaves Chris off and rolls free, scrambling into a crouch, one foot in front of him for balance, calves bunched, readying him to launch at Chris if he has to.

He looks from Chris, who’s staring at Jensen, stunned, to Steve, who’s got his arms crossed over his chest and tension lines etched deep by the sides of his mouth, and at Jensen, whose eyes are open and gazing sightlessly at him.

Jensen’s eyes alarm Jared. Crystal-clear, rich green, and totally blank. “Oh, fuck –“ he breathes, reaching for the man. “I think he hit his head.”

Jensen jerks back. “Don’t you touch me.”

“But man, your eyes –“

And then Jared stops, comprehension hitting him with the force of a ball-peen hammer, feels like. Oh. _Oh, shit._

"Yeah," is all Jensen says. It's enough.

“I didn’t know,” Jared says quietly, trying to stand, unable to look away from Jensen’s green eyes that see nothing now and probably never have. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“Sorry doesn’t make a –“

“Chris, shut your goddamn mouth,” Steve says, barely louder than a whisper. “Jared, you should go.”

“I –“

Steve shakes his head. 

Jared knows it’s stupid, but he looks at Jensen. He can’t think of a single thing to say, and if he tries to touch Jensen then Chris will skin him alive, for which he wouldn’t blame him a bit.

“God,” he says at last, unable to think of anything else. “God.”

“Go on,” Steve repeats. He doesn’t look at Jared. No one does as Jared gets his feet beneath himself, heedless of the spilled oil, and hobbles toward the door. 

As he puts his hand on the knob, Hannah tries to get between him and the way out. She thrusts her head against his hip, doggy whines begging him to stay.

And because he can’t say it to Jensen, who deserves it more, he pets her silky head with one of his clumsy paws. “Sorry,” he whispers, stroking her ears. “I am so damn sorry.”

He closes his ears to her unhappy whimpers and walks out into the coastal night, the salt air bitter as myrrh on his tongue.

***

He doesn’t get far, maybe five steps off the porch, before he stops and turns around because you know what? Running away from shit like this is for pussies. He’s left too many messes behind him along the way, and be damned if he’ll walk away from this one. Jared’s got no idea why it matters so much, this here and this now, but it _does_ and he’s seeing red like the blood on Jensen’s white sweater and he’s slammed Jensen’s apartment door back open before he takes his next breath. It ricochets against the wall and back hard on his shoulder. That’ll leave a bruise. He doesn’t care.

Chris, who’s knelt down by Jensen’s side, talking in urgent, low whispers and picking glass out of his hands, jumps up like he’s spring-loaded, murder in his devil’s grin. “Told you to get out,” he says, shoving at his bare forearms as one would push up their sleeves. “You just don’t listen, huh?”

“Fuck you,” Jared snaps back, and it startles Chris enough that he nearly misses a step. Steve’s there to catch him, and they’re both looking at him, stunned. He shoves hair out of his face and keeps coming. “Fuck both of you. I don’t give a damn what you told me to do, Chris, because this is not about you.”

Chris recovers first, and fast. “I’m gonna kill you.”

“Fine. You want to go? Any time, any place, after I get to say what I came back in here to say. To him.” He points past Chris and Steve, directly at Jensen, who lifts his head and his sightless eyes as if they’ve seen his movement. “Your choice, Chris.”

Chris takes on the wildness of a mad dog, not a big jump for him, and Steve’s quick thinking is the only thing that stops him from plowing smack into Jared with fists at the forefront. Steve wrestles him back, trying to catch his arms as he tries and fails to connect his punches with tender flesh. He’s raging past the point of speech, a disconnected creature of wrath, not humanity.

Jared stops and stands his ground. “Steve?” 

The man’s pale gaze flicks to him with a twist of the lips that suggests this had better be good, that he’s hanging on to Chris for Chris’s sake so he doesn’t go to jail for manslaughter, not because he has any particular affection for Jared.

It’s no more or less than he expected. “All I want to do is apologize,” he explains, no frills, no showy pleas. “Apologize directly to Jensen, and then I’m on my way, and I won’t bother you again.”

“You get near him and I’ll rip off your dick,” Chris rasps, hoarse from his raging.

Another piece of the puzzle clicks, sickening, into place. He glances at Steve for the confirmation he doesn’t want, and his stomach turns.

Jensen hasn’t said a word. He’s turned to a side, sightlessly fixated on the blankness of the undecorated kitchen wall.

“I won’t hurt him,” he promises, hoping they believe the truth he speaks. “Never did mean to in the first place.”

Steve gets a firmer hold on Chris. “There a reason why I should believe you?” he asks, trying to be rational, for fuck’s sake.

Jared’s big mouth spills out a flip answer. “Hannah likes me. I can’t be all bad.”

He happens to be looking at Jensen when he says it, and Jensen’s small, nearly invisible twitch of the lips – laughter – stuns him silent. Chris may be as sensitive to Jen’s moods as Steve warned, for he picks up on it too despite there being no possible way he could have, and wrestles free enough to turn around to Jensen.

“No,” he warns, a thin thread of fear in there. “Jensen, don’t you do it.”

Jensen rubs the thin skin under his eye. “Steve, take him outside, okay?” he asks, quiet as a mouse. Something in Jared’s heart leaps up and shouts, though he doesn’t understand what or why. 

“Jen.” Chris begs, and it is begging.

“Steve,” Jensen repeats. Jared gets the sense of a stubbornness to rival and best his own, the idea that Jensen hardly ever pulls out these big guns, and that no one ever wins against him when he’s got his mind made up. “Outside. Please.”

Steve hesitates, torn between Chris and Jensen, throwing the odd baffled vibe at Jared. Jared counts the heartbeats in his throat, knowing this is what makes or breaks it all, this one quiet guy who sees more than people ever give him credit for. 

Finally, Steve nods. “Chris, come on.” He heaves Chris around, half-pushing and half-lugging him toward the door. To Jared’s surprise, Chris doesn’t fight too hard to impede their progress, his shoulders sagging as if he’s lost something he needed to keep them straight.

Steve murmurs something Jared doesn’t understand, sounds like “it’s not your fault, Chris, when are you gonna grow up and accept that it was never your fault, what happened to Jen back then.” He pays it no mind and keeps to his course, carefully watching Jensen and the small tremor in his cheek that tells Jared how freaked out he really is.

Steve catches Hannah’s leash on his way out and shuts the door behind them, a dent and crack in the plaster on the opposite wall where Jared broke that, too.

And then it’s just the two of them, alone together. 

Jensen turns to face Jared, fingers tugging at the cuffs of his sweater, that and only that betraying his uneasiness, for all that the corner of his lips is quirked in a wry smile. “Are you all right?”

“Fuck. You’re asking me if I’m all right?”

“Chris. I heard him hit you, I just don’t know how hard.” Now that it’s all out in the open, Jensen doesn’t make any big to-do over what he couldn’t bear witness to with his eyes, just waves at the air between them and shrugs. “He didn’t break anything, did he?”

Jared gapes at him. “No,” he says slowly. “Nothing that won’t heal.”

“Good.” Jensen swallows, throat working. “I don’t know how long you’ve got before not even Steve can keep Chris from charging back in here, so better talk quick. Whatever you’ve got to say.”

“I said I’d apologize,” Jared replies, baffled at the turn of the tables. It’s like… it’s like…

Ah. Clarity knocks the scales off. “You didn’t want me to know,” he says, the certain ring of truth echoing in every word. “You wanted me to think you could see.”

Jensen’s cheeks color and he turns his face to the side, confirmation enough.

Jared thinks he might need to sit down. “What the fuck, man? Why would you do something like that?”

Jensen’s color darkens and his jaw tightens. He doesn’t reply.

“Answer me, man. I’m not playing around.”

Fingers curl into fists under long white sleeves. “You even have to ask the question?” The query’s bitter as bone ash. “Do you really?”

Jared doesn’t have to, not any more. “Why would you think it matters?” he asks, honestly confused, knowing that if he puts a single foot wrong it’ll all be over and refusing to let that happen. “Jensen. You think I’d care?”

Jensen’s shoulders twitch, and that’s all the understanding Jared needs.

“It doesn’t matter,” he says, slowly figuring out how to walk again. “That’s not something that would ever matter to me.”

“God.” Jensen makes as if to punch the wall, stopping just shy of bashing his knuckles, then pressing them hard to the plaster. “Maybe you should go. It’d be –“

“What? Easier? Too late for that, don’t you think?”

“Jared –“

“Nuh-uh.” He’s made up his mind and he knows that he’s going to fight for this. “I’m coming over there to you, okay? Right now.”

“Don’t.”

“Make me stop.”

Jensen doesn’t. They’re side by side, Jensen barely breathing, before Jared draws to a halt. He takes Jensen by one hand on his hip and one on his shoulder, pulling him about so that they’re face to face. He looks down at Jensen and although he has no idea what he should do, knows what he’s going to do, and prays they’ll work out to the same ends.

“I figured it was me who didn’t understand you,” he says, letting himself press in close enough to smell the clean fragrance and olive-tanginess of Jensen. “I didn’t think you wouldn’t get me, but now you’re gonna.”

“Jared.” Jen makes an abortive move toward him, caught up in the same spasmodic, electric field drawing them nearer by inches. Jared thinks he’s gonna pull away, gonna try some other way to get out unscathed, but he’s surprised when Jensen lifts his chin and asks, “Are you sure about this?”

“I am. And I’ll prove it to you.” 

Jensen frowns faintly. “What are you talking about?”

“This.”

“What?”

“Hold still for me.”

“What?!”

“Just go with it, man.” Jared takes a deep breath, then realizes that’s a really stupid thing to do because Jen’s going to have heard it and he’ll have time to slap another layer of cement on those damned walls, but hell, he’s invested now and he does have to exhale. 

Okay. Show time.

Releasing that held breath in a slow, steady exhale, he seizes the split-second when Jen’s distracted by the noise and he’s raising his hands to Jen’s face, his fingertips pressed lightly to the skin before Jen figures out what’s going on. When that happens, Jen freezes, those gorgeous, blank green eyes raising just left of Jared’s face. Jensen’s lips part a fraction, and Jared has the craziest urge to kiss him, but doesn’t. ‘Cause, y’know, crazy.

And he’s really gotta learn to shut up when it comes to moments like this, doesn’t he? 

No way in hell he’ll let this moment spoil or sour, not now. Careful as if he’s handling glass, he feathers his touch over Jen’s face, not threatening, just letting him know he’s there and seriously, not going to hurt him or scare him. On purpose. 

So far, so good. Jensen’s still there.

Jared thinks Jensen might be working up to a fury or a freak-out, though, so without letting himself ramble off again he lets his hands fall away from Jen’s smooth white skin and drops them to catch Jen’s wrists. His hands encircle them so easy it’s kinda scary. 

This time Jen does breathe in sharply and try to pull away but uh-uh, it’s not going to be that easy now they’ve come this far. Jared’s gentle but inflexible, aware of his size more than ever in his life although he hadn’t known that was possible, lifting Jen’s hands slowly to his own face. 

Jen hisses when his fingers come to rest on Jared’s face. He looks like he’s maybe eleven years old and lost in a crowded city, scared out of his mind. He licks his lower lip, leaving it shiny, and that makes Jared’s chest hurt a little. It’s tempting to promise things he can’t deliver, like not letting anything bad happen to Jen ever again. Tempting, but… can’t do that. Not to Jen. 

“There,” he says, tension a hard knot in his chest. “Now you know who I am.”

“I don’t…”

“This is the kind of man I am, and I want you to know that for sure,” he says, soft and low. “I’m in your hands. Do you get it, now?”

He applies the lightest possible pressure to Jen’s hands, moving Jen’s fingers over the slant of his cheekbones, the point of his nose, the angle of his chin, and even across his forehead. He stops breathing for a moment when Jen brushes the ends of his overlong bangs and he didn’t make Jen do that. 

Then, Jen tentatively touches the corners of Jared’s eyes. 

He closes them fast and fights the weirdest knot in his throat at the gentle tickle of touch on his shut eyelids. Waiting for Jen to say something. Anything. _C’mon, man, I feel like an idiot here._

“They’re tilted,” Jen says abruptly, startling Jared into opening back up. Jen’s head is tipped slightly, a faint, puzzled frown quirking his lips. He laughs, and the sound tickles Jared, a relief so immense it rocks him. 

“Tilted,” he echoes, thinking that the next time he tackles Jensen in a hug, it’ll likely end up far happier for both of them, already making plans.

Tilted. Yeah. The word kinda fits somehow. 

Jen’s palms settle over Jared’s cheeks, and it’s now or never, so Jared covers Jen’s hands with his and squeezes carefully. “How about we start again?” he asks, hoping.

After a quizzical beat Jensen grins and dips his head. “You’re crazy.”

“So I’ve been told.” He chances a kiss to the inside of Jensen’s wrist. “Hi,” he says, the way he should have done in the beginning. “My name’s Jared. It’s good to meet you.” 

And Jensen smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently I really like the name Hannah. Go figure.


End file.
